His Remi had never looked at him through the lens of reality. Maybe that was one of the reasons why he couldn’t leave her alone. He was addicted to the way she saw him.

“Come on, Brick,” she cajoled. “I really want to know where you got the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas.”

He sighed. “You know what my parents were like,” he said finally.

“And?”

“And what? When we met, my father was in prison for fraud.”

“I know that. And now he’s out and running a business according to your brother.”

“Remi, my mom walked away from us like we were nothing.”

“Honey, that doesn’t mean you were nothing. That doesn’t mean anything about anyone but her. Same with your dad.”

“It’s easy for you to say growing up with Darlene and Gilbert Ford, Mackinac’s answer to Leave It to Beaver.”

“I am no more my parents than you are yours.”

“Your parents loved you and each other enough to stay and work and fight for each other.” His gave up, took the easy way out, walked away. Part of him had believed that if he would have been better, his parents would have, too.

She sighed, and he wished she were here in his bed. “It devastates me to know that you don’t realize what a good, honorable man you are.”

His throat tightened. “I love you, Remi.” He knew she wouldn’t say it back. Knew she wasn’t ready. He had his own proving to do there. But he needed her to know. “So fucking much that it hurts.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she confessed.

He recognized the note of panic in her voice and wished he could hold her.

“You don’t need to say anything back. You just need to hear me. Do you?”

“Yes. I do.” She sounded breathless.

His cock swelled against his stomach at the tremble in her voice. The never-ending need for her was a constant hum reverberating in his blood.

“It makes me feel dizzy, like I’m on a carousel trying to get my bearings,” she said.

“That’s how it feels for me, too.”

“Do you really mean it, Brick?”

“Baby, I love you so fucking much I can’t breathe unless you’re in the same room. So much I wish I were saying it to your beautiful face and not just your goddamn ear.”

His doorbell rang, and he swore.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s at the door.”

“Did you replace me already? Did you get yourself a new girlfriend before I even decided to be yours?”

“You were always mine,” he growled as he headed back down the stairs. “Always. The reason I asked Audrey out? Your dad told me about the guy you were dating in school. He sounded like he was perfect for you. A French hipster sculptor with long hair, and I was just a dirty-talking cowboy waiting for you to come home.”

“Jean-Claude? You gave up on me because of Jean-Claude? The guy smelled like mothballs and soup and he brought his fiancée along on our second date just so he could show off the pronunciation for ménage à trois. There was no third date.”